The Haunting of Timber Manor by F.E. Feeley Jr. Guest Post & Excerpt!

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Hi peeps, we have F.E. Feeley popping in today with  his upcoming re-release The Haunting of Timber Manor, we have a beautiful guest post and a great excerpt so check out the post and enjoy! <3 ~Pixie~

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The Haunting of Timber Manor

(Memoirs of the Human Wraiths 01)

F.E. Feeley

While recovering from the recent loss of his parents, Daniel Donnelly receives a phone call from his estranged aunt, who turns over control of the family fortune and estate, Timber Manor. Though his father seemed guarded about the past, Daniel’s need for family and curiosity compel him to visit.

Located in a secluded area of the Northwest, Timber Manor has grown silent over the years. Her halls sit empty and a thin layer of dust adorns the sheet-covered furniture. When Daniel arrives to begin repairs, strange things happen. Nightmares haunt his dreams. Memories not his own disturb his waking hours. Alive with the tragedies of the past, Timber Manor threatens to tear Daniel apart.

Sheriff Hale Davis grew up working on the manor grounds. Seeing Daniel struggle, he vows protect the young man who captured his heart, and help him solve the mystery behind the haunting and confront the past-not only to save Daniel’s life, but to save his family, whose very souls hang in the balance.

2nd Edition. 1st edition published by Dreamspinner Press 2012.

Release date: 9th January 2017

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F.E. Feeley’s Love Letter

I am under no illusion that the world isn’t a rough place right now. I am under no illusion that ‘all the world needs is a hug’, either. But for the past month or so people are sore. And they’re angry. And they’re hurting.  And it’s spread all around the internet and around the world. I don’t think there is a corner of peace anywhere that we can find. So, instead of writing some banal blog post on this tour – instead of trying to sell myself to you and convince you to buy a book, instead of answering a bunch of prewritten questions about myself and trying to find a cheeky way to responding to it. So, I am going to write something different this time around. Something maybe you need to hear and something I need to say.

Dear you (insert your name here)

                I’ve been wandering around this world lonely for a long time. And I know that many people are out there just like me working their way through this insane thing we call life. But I just wanted you to know that I am thinking about you. Just you. Right here. Right now. Just you.

                And I know that this may come off sounding corny but I can’t help but think of you. See, the thing is, I love you.

                I know we’re just getting to know each other but I really mean that. Sure, I bet a lot of guys have told you this. I mean, how can they not – look at you. You’re stunning.

                Don’t get me wrong. I’m not shallow and looks aren’t everything – but really. You’re stunning. I can tell that even having never seen your face. Because I know you. Not in the creepy stalker ‘I watch you sleep’ twilight way – but in a ‘you are a human being and ultimately a part of me’ way. So here are a few things that I’ve noticed along the way.

  1. I know that at some point in your life you’ve struggled. Or are struggling. Maybe your struggle is with your sexuality. Maybe it’s in a relationship or maybe you’re thinking you’re always going to be single. Maybe you’re dealing with self-image issues, I have my own trust me, or maybe you’ve been rejected by family. I know how that feels too. Perhaps you’re dealing with a mental illness, a physical malady, something that makes you feel isolated and alone. I just want you to know you’re not.
  2. I know that you have dreams and aspirations. Perhaps it’s something fantastic like being a singer, or being a writer. Maybe it’s dreams of playing some kind of sport or dancing in a New York Ballet Company or The New York Ballet Company if such a thing exists. Maybe your dreams are simpler, perhaps you just want to provide for you family. Whatever you lay awake and night dreaming about, your dreams are valid.
  3. Perhaps you’re a single mother feeling the weight of her responsibility or a single father. Maybe you’re a parent watching your child make mistakes and feeling helpless in your attempt to help them. Or perhaps you are a child who desperately needs the love and affection of his or her family and either don’t know how to ask for it or knowing that maybe – at this point – your family is made up of those who love you for you.
  4. It’s possible that the last few weeks have left you stunned and feeling a little bit off guard. Maybe you’re sitting there night after night watching the news and shaking your head. Or maybe, like me, you’ve cut it all off for sanity’s sake.

Either way, I’ve noticed you. I see you. I hear you. And just like you – I think you’re doing a fantastic job. You’re here. And I want you to be here. With me. With us. Because, you see, I can’t really imagine a world without you. And I can’t imagine my life without you in it.

                And perhaps some of the things I’ve said are a little selfish. I mean, maybe I’ve wanted someone to come out of nowhere, drop a letter in my lap, and tell me that I am special. But I feel like in order to get love, we must be willing to give it. We must be willing to take a risk. Face the possibility of rejection and it’s bitter sting.

                But without that risk there is no reward. Without taking a chance there is no hope of ever achieving what we’ve dreamed of even if it’s in some small measure. There’s a lot of craziness going on in the world right now. But there is also a lot of joy to be had. A lot of hope to cling to. And a lot of love that is so much a part of our existence I can’t help but want to give away some that I possess to you.

                It’s 12:00 a.m on a Monday night midway through the month of December but I swear to God I am not drunk so there will be no regret or hangover when I send this off. I mean everything I say as I sit here pining for you and think about your happiness. I just want you to know at the stroke of midnight – someone, somewhere was thinking of you and wishing you all the joy life can bring. Someone knows how hard you’re working to keep yourself together.

                But I just wanted to send you a note just to tell you how beautiful I think you are and how much I love you.



P.S. I’ll be thinking of you. Will you think of me?

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THE RAIN pounded down on the cab of the truck, the wiper blades furiously working to no avail as my truck crept down the darkened forest road. I felt like I was driving underwater, deep in some forgotten sea. The music on the radio was barely a whisper, as I had the volume turned almost completely down; I held the steering wheel in a viselike grip, trying to see more than ten feet in front of me. The heater was cranked up on high to keep the windows from fogging up, and sweat trickled down the side of my face. I couldn’t tell whether it was from the heat or from the fear tightening my gut. It was probably a combination of both.

Lightning danced across the sky, instantly followed by a peal of thunder that shook the world around me and caused me to yelp involuntarily and duck my head as I took my foot off the gas. My heart leaped into my throat as the thunder rumbled like a cranky dragon awakening from a deep slumber to find his treasure gone.

I had slowed the truck to a near crawl almost ten miles back when the torrential rains began. The two thousand or so miles from Texas had passed pretty well without incident, and I’d made very good time as I traversed hell’s half acre. Now it felt like I was not moving at all, and I could barely make out the road in front of me. No cars passed me coming from the other direction, and nobody came up behind me. I was alone and isolated, as if the rest of the world had disappeared and all that existed was me and my old Chevy truck. Those thoughts didn’t help the panic that was building.

Shall I pull over and wait the rain out? Or keep going until I find a gas station to pull in to?

I didn’t like the situation at all; this was how horror novels started, or some slasher movie. Some maniac wielding a knife or some other sharp weapon would come hurtling out of the woods or maybe appear at Billy Bob’s gas station. You know, one of those rusted old out-of-the-way service stations no one has seen in forever.

The subject of the 1980s and 1990s horror flicks began to flash in my mind as well as each serial killer: Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers… and who could forget the ghost-face killer in Scream? And of course that didn’t account for the demon in The Stand, the ghosts in The Shining, or the werewolf in Silver Bullet. These movies were all part of my personal collection back home, their memory mocking me with sinister ease.

My throat was dry and begging for a drink; my eyes were strained and grainy from staring out into the night as rain sloshed my windshield, and my headlights peered into the darkness in a sad attempt to guide me to my destination.

How do I get myself into these situations?

A few nights ago, I’d been sitting at a campus bar with some of my friends, lamenting the end of the semester, and now here I was, wishing I were back in my dorm room surrounded by my belongings, homework, and familiarity, which were so far away. But that was before receiving the terrible news that flipped my entire world upside down.

Before that phone call, I was a college student ready to take on the world with a killer smile, a hot body, purposefully shaggy, unkempt hair, and a college degree. After the phone call, a visit to the morgue, and seven days of walking around in a stupor barely eating and hardly sleeping, unsure of what I’d signed or who I’d spoken to, I got into my truck and left it all behind me.

Now I was out in butt-fucked who-knows-where trying to reach my estranged aunt’s house, where I would stay for the summer.

With one hand, I removed a Marlboro from its pack, slipped it into my mouth, and lit the end. Sweet nicotine heaven poured in as I placed my hand back on the steering wheel and thumbed the window control. The burn of the drag in my lungs was the only thing on the way from Texas that reminded me I was, in fact, still alive. My head felt stuffed with cotton and my heart felt like a lead balloon. On my way, I’d eaten at fast-food joints, pissed in disgusting gas-station bathrooms (and once on the side of the freeway), and driven relentlessly from point A toward point B. Once, in Nebraska, I stopped only to get a room and passed out on the bed without taking my clothes off.

With the window rolled down midway, a deluge of rain pelted the side of my face, but like with everything else, I didn’t care. My give-a-damn was fucked these days.

I put the cigarette in my right hand so it wouldn’t get wet—addicts do the strangest things to get their fix. Besides, if I was going to die here in the backside of nowhere, either by a terrible car accident or a knife-wielding maniac, I was having a damn cigarette.

The rain coming through the cracked window was cool on my fevered skin, and the air, which carried the smell of the storm and the woods that surrounded me, pushed the smoke from my cigarette away with its fresh, clean fragrance. That air was sweet and again reminded me that I was, in fact, alive.

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About F.E.

F.E. Feeley author picFirst and foremost, I am a husband to my wonderful husband, John. I am a father of our five-year-old German Shephard, Kaiser. I am an avid reader of Mysteries, Horror, and Suspense, and biographies. I am a gamer. My favorite ones are Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Star Trek Online,Skyrim, Assassin’s Creed, Fallout, and Civilization Five. I love to cook and I love trying new recipes (hint hint). I am an avid music junkie from POPular music to Opera, to Showtunes, Gospel, Rock, Rap, and Hip Hop. I am also a Poet – a lot of which is offered on this web page for free. And I do some gay fiction writing from time to time.

I love connecting with people. As an ex- fundi, I grew up in a world where there was this invisible boundary set down between me and the world around me. I felt more like an observer than an actual participant in that world. Since I’ve left fundamentalism – it has been my constant endeavor to be a part of the world. To be a part of humanity. And when I write my poetry or my books, I draw from the experiences of being raised in that environment as well as the experiences of tasting the bouquet of humanity I’d been denied all those years ago.

It’s a way to entertain people, writing is a way to connect to them, as well as a way for me to recover from the world I’d lived in all those years ago. Thank you for coming on my journey with me.

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